


Red

by Aate



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Protective Anne Shirley, Protective Gilbert Blythe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: Gilbert would have been much easier to hate if he hadn't been so kind. Anne is still determined to try.Or,Anne needs a champion. Gilbert will have to do. Not because Anne likes him or anything, of course.
Relationships: Diana Barry & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 28
Kudos: 96





	1. Red Leaves

The leaves were all perfectly, disgustingly _red_.

”Go away, you _saxicolous moth!_ ” she hissed at the boy with her face burning from embarrassment, suddenly overly conscious of the two red braids falling down her shoulders on top of her Sunday coat. “And take your ugly leaves with you!”

It felt like the whole of Avonlea was staring at the two of them standing there at the gate – mostly at _her_ , and she wished a regal albatross would swoop down from amongst the heavy grey clouds with snow-white wings and snatch her from where she stood.

She would name the albatross King Percival the Noble, and together they would fly away. She would send a postcard to Marilla and Matthew from South America to let them know she was fine, that she had joined one of the many native tribes and was now one with the nature, cruelly driven away by a boy who took every opportunity to have a laugh at her expense. She could become the chief of her tribe, given the chance, or they might eat her, if it was a cannibalistic tribe – either would be better than Gilbert Blythe peering down at her with a bundle of _red_ fall leaves in his outstretched hand. Red like carrots, red like _her hair_.

While the whole of Avonlea stared!

“Isn’t it enough that I have to bear your existence at school?” she said, angry as always when her feelings were hurt. “Why can’t you have the _decency_ to let me be while we’re standing on the _church ground_?”

Well, technically they were no longer on the church ground, and no-one was exactly looking in their direction, either. Groups of church-goers were gathered here and there around the church yard, their chatter cheerful despite of the occasional rain drop splattering to the ground. Marilla was talking with the recently widowed Mrs. Smith, while Matthew stood a few steps away, not near enough to be forced to participate in the conversation, but not so far away he would have given anyone reason to call him rude.

Anne and Gilbert were standing alone at the mossy gate under The Woeful Maiden, a princess turned into a willow tree by an envious witch, and both the gate and the Woeful Maiden were sheltering them from any curious onlookers.

But everyone _might_ as well have been staring at them, and that was what mattered.

“ _Saxicolous_ ,” Gilbert said slowly as if to taste the word, ignoring her questions and tilting his head in a thoughtful manner even as he kept on studying Anne with something unreadable in his brown eyes. “I will have to look it up on a dictionary once I get home. The expanse of your vocabulary is truly _unparagoned_ , Anne.”

Hopeful, Anne swept the clouds with her gaze, but no kings – noble or otherwise – appeared to save the day.

“I am doomed to stay on the ground for all eternity.”

“My goodness, girl, your head is quite far up enough in the clouds as it is,” came the dry voice of Marilla, and the leaf bundle in Gilbert’s hand disappeared quickly behind his back as if he decided he didn’t want Marilla and Matthew witnessing the terrible insult. _Didn’t want to get scolded for it_ , Anne scoffed to herself, as Matthew and Marilla came to stand on either side of her.

“Hello, Gilbert,” said Marilla in a much kinder voice and Anne frowned, wondering if she truly hadn’t noticed the leaf bundle Gilbert was hiding behind his back all too obviously. Surely Marilla would have scolded him had she noticed he was making fun of Anne.

“Mrs. Cuthbert.” Whether or not Marilla had noticed the bundle, Gilbert sounded a bit nervous. “Mr. Cuthbert.”

“Afternoon,” said Matthew after a characteristic pause as if he needed a moment to think how to go about his answer.

Adjusting her hat, Marilla leant a bit closer, giving Gilbert her full attention.

“And how is your father, dear?” she asked, gently. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

As Gilbert began to answer, Anne gave him one last pitying glance and turned her nose up. She could tattle, they both knew it, but she was too honorable to do such a thing. She never tattled to get others in trouble, not even when they were insulting her right in her face with a bundle of _red_ leaves. She rather suffered her fate like a true heroine.

A leaf fell from the Woeful Maiden and she addressed her woeful sigh at the tree. It was a red leaf, red like carrots, red like her hair, just like the ones Gilbert had tried to offer her. That was just one of the many woes they shared, Anne and the poor tree, and though the Woeful Maiden only had to wear a red veil once a year – unlike Anne, who was forced to live each and every moment of her life with her cursed red hair – she always spent her winters bald. Anne couldn’t quite decide which was worse and she studied the thick trunk in sympathy. They understood one another. They were both truly woeful maidens, for various similar reasons.

“Nonsense,” said Marilla over dinner, cutting them all a slice of cheese, when Anne told her and Matthew about the many woes she shared with the Woeful Maiden. “A tree has no feelings.”

“I believe she has,” Anne said, sadly, overcome with emotion when she thought of the Woeful Maiden who had to spend the rainy night all alone near the graveyard. Did trees fear ghosts? “I hope a bird will make a nest on her branches. The Woeful Maiden will guard the nest and the bird will keep her company. I hope it will be a finch! A finch sings ever so beautifully, like a flowing forest stream were it a bird. Oh, Matthew, don’t you think the Woeful Maiden would be the perfect tree for a finch to nest in?”

Matthew’s eyes were twinkling, as he met her gaze over his glass of watered-down buttermilk.

“I suppose it would,” was all he said, and she rewarded him with a bright smile, even as tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes at the thought of how happy the Woeful Maiden would be to become a home to a family of birds.

“I will pray on it,” she decided and reached for her fork. “She deserves to be happy, even if she has red leaves.”

Marilla sighed and offered her bread.

The next morning, Anne walked to school with Diana, arm in arm, and told her all about the Woeful Maiden and the bird. In return, Diana told her about the new crochet pattern her mother had taught her during the weekend and Anne was thrilled when she promised to teach it to her. They talked about their dreams and hopes, and a giggling Diana confessed her scandalous thoughts on how she would love to try to ride _a bike_ one day even though her parents had declared it unladylike and most unsuitable for young girls.

Eventually, encouraged by the tender look in her bosom friend’s beautiful eyes, Anne dared to reveal how cruelly Gilbert had insulted her after the Sunday service, though talking about it out loud embarrassed her greatly. She felt her cheeks heating up and looked resolutely forward, as they walked towards the school, side by side, arm in arm.

As Anne had known she would, Diana let out a sigh.

“Oh Anne,” Diana’s voice was pitying enough to make Anne frown. “I wish you were kinder to Gilbert. He was only trying to be nice.”

She was siding _with Gilbert_? When he had treated her so poorly!

Trying to squash down the bitter feelings of betrayal, Anne walked a bit faster with Diana hurrying her steps to keep up.

“I love you, Anne,” Diana said as if sensing Anne’s darkening mood, pulling her arm away only to twine it around Anne’s waist. “Please, listen. I love you, truly. You’re my one and true bosom friend. I understand you don’t like it when people talk about your hair, but I truly don’t think Gilbert was trying to insult you purposefully. I saw him picking up those leaves before the service – it looked like he was choosing them carefully, only the most beautiful ones – and I saw him cradling them in his lap under his hat, so people wouldn’t notice. He was drying them, so they wouldn’t be wet when he would give them to you. Oh Anne, it was meant as a kind gesture, I’m sure of it!”

“Oh Diana,” Anne said, coolly, offering her a tight smile. “Your soul is too kind and loving to understand the cruel and insensitive thoughts of Gilbert Blythe, but I have witnessed his darkness first hand. There is no hope for him. He is a lost soul.”

The cruel and insensitive Gilbert Blythe was standing in front of the school building when they reached it. When he noticed them, Gilbert seemed to suddenly stand up taller. He pushed his way from between the rowdy boys gathered around him and stepped towards the two girls, touching his cap by way of greeting as he hurried to follow them to the stream by the school.

“Good morning, Anne,” he said instead of apologizing, and Anne didn’t spare him a glance.

“Good morning, Gilbert,” said Diana after several silent moments.

“Uh, sorry – good morning to you as well, Diana.”

Silence fell again.

Anne said nothing.

Once she had put her milk in her spot in the stream, she straightened her dress and turned to walk inside.

“I, uh, hope you’re well today,” said Gilbert as she walked past him.

“And I hope you end up in a well today,” said Anne and shot him a scathing look over her shoulder.

Quick though the look was, she had just enough time to see a grin forming on his face as if it had just made his day that she had deigned to acknowledge him. Anne’s steps hurried into a furious march.

Gilbert Blythe was the most impossible, the rudest, the – and why did he have to be so kind and polite all the time when Anne was doing nothing but trying to have a fight! He could have at least had the decency to fight back. When he didn’t, it made _Anne_ feel bad, like _she_ was in the wrong here, even though it had been Gilbert who had insulted her.

Red leaves. How dared he!

Ignoring Ruby and Tillie who were waving at her and Diana from where they were standing on top of the stairs, she swirled around – _”Anne? Anne!”_ – and marched right back – with a bewildered Diana scrambling to follow – until she was standing right in front of Gilbert.

For a moment she hesitated, fumbling for what to do. Why couldn’t she have a sword with her for moments like this? Of course, she wouldn’t have struck him down – but she could’ve shaken the blade at him like a medieval knight to emphasize her words.

When she regrettably had no sword at hand, she settled for swabbing him in the chest with a finger.

“You are the rudest boy I have ever met, Gilbert Blythe!”

And Gilbert – Gilbert had the audacity to – _to look pleased_ , of all things.

“But thank you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” he said earnestly, eyes sparkling. “To be set apart like that – that makes me special indeed, to you.”

Anne stifled a scream and ran inside past the waiting girls, Diana hot on her heels, and tried to convince herself it had been a shudder, not a shiver, that had just run down her back.

* * *

The lessons were uneventful. Mr. Phillips wrote Anne’s name on the blackboard when it turned out she had gotten all her homework correct and Diana squeezed her hand under the table, dimples showing. Gilbert’s name ended up right below hers for the same reason, and while she felt him looking at her from where he was sitting on the boys’ side of the classroom, she kept her eyes on Mr. Phillips and did her best to give Gilbert the impression her heart wasn’t beating a tad faster for seeing their names up there together.

Billy Andrews got a slap in the wrist for not having completed his homework and Ruby Gillis was sent to stand in the corner for getting all her answers wrong. She sobbed there miserably through the lesson, narrow shoulders shaking, and Anne dreamt of setting Mr. Phillips’ desk on fire. She wanted to ask if Mr. Phillips truly believed crying in the corner would teach Ruby division, but Diana knew her well enough to take a hold of her wrist just as Anne was about to jump up to her feet to demand justice. A warning look and a slight shake of Diana’s head ended up being enough and Anne’s shoulders slumped in defeat, though when she was called to answer, she couldn’t keep the terse note out of her tone.

During lunch, Josie Pye and Anne got into an argument over whether Anne could jump over the stream backwards or not. She might not have cared, but the boys came to watch, among them Gilbert, so Anne just had to settle the matter. Turned out, she could jump over the stream backwards, but only after the second try. Afterwards, Anne was happy with having done it and Josie was smiling, too, because Anne’s socks and the hem of her dress had gotten wet. As a result, they were talking quite amiably to one another and for once Josie didn’t comment anything about Anne’s looks.

Diana had left shortly after Anne had jumped over the stream, presumably to fill her private needs in the small closet built behind the school for such needs, but when she came back, her eyes were red like she had been crying and her face was so pale Anne ran to her, worried she had become sick.

“Diana, Diana, my dearest Diana!” she cried, distraught, taking her by the arms. “What’s the matter? Are you sick? Do you need to sit down? Should I fetch the doctor? Should I call for Mr. Phillips? Has someone been mean to you? Do I need to yell at Billy Andrews?”

“Anne,” Diana’s voice was shaking and Anne was horrified to see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I- I have done- I have done something terrible.”

Mr. Phillips had an ugly vase on the corner of his desk. There were never any flowers in the vase nor anything else, and no-one had ever seen Mr. Phillips use the vase for anything. It appeared that its sole purpose was to exist there on the table for reasons unknown to the pupils. An empty vase with no use.

During lunch, a daring student would sometimes sneak into the classroom and move the vase from one corner to the other. So far Mr. Phillips had never commented on the changed place of the vase, much to the amusement of the children. It had been a bit of harmless fun, a game – sneaky pupils versus the oblivious teacher.

It had been Billy Andrews who started it, The Vase Game, but most of the other boys had quickly gotten involved too. None of the girls had dared to participate so far, though Anne had sometimes been a bit tempted – but in the end the idea of touching something that _belonged to the teacher_ and was on _the teacher’s desk_ just wasn’t an option, not even for her.

But this time, _Diana_ had moved the vase. Her sweet Diana. Diana who avoided trouble to the best of her abilities.

“I was trying to be more like you,” she confessed to Anne, weeping openly in the safety of the bushes behind the school where no-one could see. “Brave and daring and adventurous. I have never jumped over a stream, Anne, backwards or otherwise. You are brilliant and I wanted to be more like you. I wanted to do something brave and daring and adventurous, so I could tell all about it to you afterwards.”

It was just the two of them now. They had snuck away when the other girls had been distracted by the note Eddie Smith had left on the Take Notice Board about Jane and him, and if some of the boys – one specific boy – had seen them leave, Gilbert was gentleman enough to allow them their privacy, no matter how cruel and insensitive he could otherwise be. Granted, it might have helped the matters that Anne had snapped at him, “Give us some privacy!” when she had walked a crying Diana past the tree lump on which he had been eating an apple for lunch.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Diana sniffed, “but I lost my grip and the vase fell. It broke,” as did her voice when she said it, “into thousands of pieces! It broke and I tried to clean it up, but there were too many shards there and I couldn’t get them all, not without a broom, and the broom is in the back room and its door was locked, and- and- _oh Anne_. Mr. Phillips will punish me for this! He might even- he might even use the c-cane!”

She began to cry in earnest, unable to go on, and Anne hugged her, helpless, so distraught she couldn’t even enjoy the autumnal scent of wet leaves she usually so adored.

“I have never been b-beaten before,” Diana managed, clinging to Anne, after her sobs had died down some. “Oh Anne, I’m terrified! And what if Mr. Phillips will tell my parents? What will father say? What will mother do? Why did I have to be so thoughtless! I can never be a heroine like you.”

Anne didn’t respond. She was staring at the yellowing leaves all around them without seeing any of them. The leaves swayed in the breeze, but there might have as well been a storm and she wouldn’t have noticed, so deep she had gone into the dark pits of her memories. Cold she wasn’t in her woolly coat, yet she was shivering.

Diana might not have ever been beaten in her life, but Anne had been. There had been times – before she had been adopted by the Cuthberts – when she had believed all children were beaten by adults whenever adults happened to be in a bad mood. Canes and whips had tasted her bare skin often, leaving her with bloody scrapes. Fists and black eyes had been rare, though not entirely unheard of.

Diana was a sweet soul meant to go through life without ever knowing what it felt like, the flash of sharp pain that kept coming and coming and coming till tears streamed down your cheeks and you no longer had the breath to scream.

Anne’s fists clenched. No-one would ever do that to her darling Diana. She wouldn’t let them. She would not let them.

“It will be all right,” she said, kissing Diana’s temple, hugging her protectively closer, as determined as she was numb. “I promise. Dry your tears, Diana. It’ll be all right.”

* * *

Mr. Phillips noticed. Of course he did, how could he have not. The vase was missing from his desk – and even if he hadn’t noticed it was missing, there were still porcelain shards all around his desk even though Anne and Diana had done their best to swipe them away with their shoes.

All their schoolmates had noticed the situation as well, and the redder Mr. Phillips turned, the more silent the classroom grew. Ruby was already sniffling, though no-one had even accused her of anything yet, and for once the ever-present smirk on Billy Andrews’ face wasn’t there.

Anne was holding Diana’s hand under the desk. She couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking more.

“Who,” Mr. Phillips broke the silence after what felt like an eternity, his voice barely above a whisper, “has done this? Which one of you _absolute idiots_ ,” he smacked the pointer against his desk and the sudden loud snap of it had several children give a start, “has dared to break my grandmother’s vase?”

Diana was sniffling now, too, and the sound of it formed a lump in Anne’s throat. She squeezed her hand, blinking to clear her foggy vision. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t dare to wipe it away.

“Billy Andrews,” snapped Mr. Phillips, marching next to the boy in question, “was it you?”

“No, sir,” came Billy’s shrug of an answer. “Wasn’t me. Honestly. Not this time.”

Mr. Phillips huffed, moving on to the next boy.

“Charlie Sloane, did you break my vase?”

“No, sir. Not me.”

“Gilbert Blythe, was it you?”

“No, sir. I didn’t do it.”

And so it went on.

Eventually Mr. Phillips moved on to the girls, but the question he asked the girls wasn’t if they had done it but if they knew who had done it. It was obvious he firmly believed the culprit must have been a boy, and on some level Anne was surprised Mr. Phillips hadn’t instantly started blaming her, the cursed orphan girl. Apparently, her academic skills and her enthusiastic attitude towards learning had improved her standing in the teacher’s eyes so much she was no longer considered the first possible suspect – or even a suspect, as it turned out. Of course, Mr. Phillips hated being wrong, Anne had noticed, and if he found out a girl had broken the vase, the consequences would undoubtedly be made even worse by the consequent embarrassment of his having been proven wrong.

Anne swallowed hard, closing her eyes. She took several deep calming breaths.

Ruby was crying so hard she was unable to answer when Mr. Phillips demanded if she knew who had done it, but she must have shaken her head because Jane Andrews was questioned next. With every passing moment when the culprit wasn’t found Mr. Phillips’ voice grew more and more exasperated. The level of his voice was rising.

“Diana Barry!” he was shouting by the time he reached them and it had them both flinching. “Do you know who broke my vase? And don’t you dare lie to me! Just point your finger at the boy who did it.”

Much to Anne’s startlement, Diana slipped her hand free from hers. Anne’s eyes snapped to her, but Diana wouldn’t meet her gaze. Her jaw was set in determination, but her lips were quivering. Anne saw her swallowing. Much to her horror, Diana made a move to get up – she was about to confess, and Anne could already hear her screams, could imagine the pain twisting Diana’s features, and Mr. Phillips would hit her again, and again, and again, and again –

Anne jumped up to her feet. No-one would hit Diana. No-one! She wouldn’t let them.

“Sir!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I d–“

“It was me,” her confession was cut off by a voice coming from the other side of the aisle.

With her mouth still open to form the words that would doom her, Anne’s eyes turned towards the boys’ section, towards the boy who had spoken. Gilbert Blythe looked quite contrite with his head bent, with his eyes focused on his desk, and he instantly became the focus of the room – and the target of Mr. Phillips’ ire.

Mr. Phillips left Anne’s side, stepped across the aisle and slapped Gilbert so hard the sudden snap of it had Anne flinching. There was an audible gasp. Diana began to sob.

“You!” the teacher was seething, shaking Gilbert by the front of his shirt. “How dared you!”

“It was an accident! My elbow brushed against your vase and it fell before I could catch it. I’m very sorry.”

“My best student!” cried Mr. Phillips. He wasn’t a good teacher, but he had never been quite this furious at any of them either. The vase must have been special to him indeed. “The only bright mind in this accursed herd of dimwits! Not only have you destroyed a precious family heirloom, you also lied about it – to _me_ , to _my face_! It seems like I have misjudged you from the beginning. You are exactly like the rest of this mindless, misbehaving-“

Anne was so stunned she had been unable to speak, but when Mr. Phillips – lost for words – hit Gilbert again, she found her voice.

“Mr. Phillips,” she managed, her voice shaking just as much as she was. “It wasn’t Gilbert. I did it.”

“Sit down, Shirley,” came the terse order.

Mr. Phillips didn’t even look at her.

“But it was me!” Anne tried again. “I broke your vase. Gilbert didn’t do anything.”

“Blythe is a man and will bear the consequences like one – he doesn’t need a girl with a crush taking the blame for him. So, sit down, _now_ , Ann Shirley! Or I’ll have each and every one of you idiots black-and-blue, just in case you had a part in it.”

Diana was pulling at her sleeve and Anne went down, slowly. There was sobbing coming from behind her. Several of the girls were crying by now. The boys’ side was more silent than Anne had ever seen before.

Anne knew how it felt, getting beaten. It was painful as well as humiliating – she didn’t think Gilbert wanted anyone to watch it, so she looked down at her hands when the first loud smack echoed in the classroom. After the third one she had to squeeze her eyes shut and turn her face away.

Gilbert never made a sound.

When it finally ended, Anne dared to take a peek. There was a pinched look on Gilbert’s face and his cheek was still red where Mr. Phillips had slapped him. But when he went back to his desk, his eyes searched for those of Anne’s – and he winked.

Anne never mentioned the tears of pain she saw gathered in the corners of his eyes.

* * *

Diana declared Gilbert a hero. She thanked him, profusely, and he rubbed his blushing neck. After a pause, he looked at Anne over Diana’s shoulder and offered a small smile. Anne never noticed though, focused on the bruise on Gilbert’s face as she was.

“Don’t look quite so distraught, Anne,” the words pulled her back from her dark thoughts and she tore her eyes from the bruise. Instead, as Diana stepped aside, she offered Gilbert her bottle of milk, now filled with cold stream water.

“Keep it pressed against your cheek. It will reduce the swelling.”

Gilbert accepted the cold bottle with a quiet thanks.

Anne hesitated, wringing her hands.

“I’m sorry,” the words slipped from her lips before she had time to ponder any of them. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved. I’ve taken a lashing before and could’ve taken it this time, too. I’m used to getting beaten. It hurts, yes, and is terrible, but I’d rather it was me than y- _someone else_. You are my mortal enemy, but what you did today was brave and selfless and has to be taken into consideration, even though you offered me such horrible leaves yesterday. If only they hadn't been red!”

“Of course they had to be red,” said Gilbert, reaching out. He took a hold of one of Anne’s braids, not pulling, just holding it, stroking it with his thumb. “Red is my favorite color, after all.”

He sounded terribly hopeful.

Squeaking, Anne twirled around and ran away. She hid from everyone for the rest of the break.

* * *

“You were also marvelous, Anne,” said Diana and kissed her cheek when they began to walk home. “You almost took the blame, didn’t you, before Gilbert jumped in. You are the best friend anyone could ever hope for. I am forever in your debt.”

Suddenly her dimples disappeared and she looked quite miserable.

“If only I wasn’t such a coward! I should have confessed right away instead of letting anyone take the blame for me. But I was so terribly afraid, Anne. I will never be brave like you and Gilbert.”

“Nonsense,” Anne used the word Marilla often said to her. “You are too sweet to get beaten. I couldn’t have let it happen – and neither could Gilbert.”

The expression on Diana’s face turned unreadable. She gave Anne a long look.

“You do know,” she said, almost too nonchalantly, “that Gilbert didn’t do it for _me_.”

“Are those lingonberries?” Anne changed the subject after a pause and hurried her steps.

* * *

“If a boy does something heroic for you – something extremely selfless and brave, so you won’t need to suffer and he suffers because of it on your behalf – can you still consider him your mortal enemy?”

Matthew paused where he had been filling his pipe, sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace. He seemed to think the matter over, looking from his pipe to Anne in his quietly considering manner. Anne waited patiently, continuing her crochet work in the light of the oil lamp and the flames dancing in the fireplace.

“Well,” Matthew said, eventually, “I would say not.”

Anne nodded and couldn’t decide if she was pleased or displeased.


	2. The Champion

Anne scrubbed the floor with fervor, as she imagined her funeral – oh, what a perfectly sad day it would be! In her mind’s eye, she saw Gilbert falling to his knees by her grave, weeping and asking how he ever could have been so awful to her, how he could have turned her short life into such torment. _Oh, Anne, if you were here I would beg for your forgiveness._

Granted, she could no longer consider Gilbert her mortal enemy, not after he had taken a beating on her behalf. But it didn’t mean her feelings for him had to be perfectly amiable either.

Not that she had feelings for him. Because she didn’t. She couldn’t have had less feelings for Gilbert had she tried.

With her cheeks suddenly feeling warm, she said out loud,

“If I die young, I wish people would cover me in rose petals.”

The afternoon sunrays poured in through the windows and highlighted each and every smear. By now, the scent of pinewood soap filled the kitchen – and the front of Anne’s apron was wet. She couldn’t help the splashing every time she drowned the rug into the bucket, and with a long-suffering sigh Marilla had told her to take her socks off to keep them from getting wet as well. Anne wiggled her bare toes, they must have been happy to be free for a change.

“I also wish you would dress me in white. It would emphasize how pale I am and make my tragedy appear even more tragic. I can never be a beautiful corpse, but at least my fate could be seen as a tragedy, don’t you think? Oh, and if you’re going to have something engraved on my tombstone – though I understand if you won’t, expensive as it is – could you please _please_ have it be, ‘Anne Cordelia Shirley-Cuthbert – Once I was as you are now, dreams and love so graced my brow, and like I rest down here alone, you too shall once be nothing but bone.’”

All this was said very quickly, barely without a pause for a breath. With a dreaming sigh, Anne splashed the rug into the bucket.

Having come to a halt with the scrubbing, Marilla wiped sweat off her frowning forehead with the back of her palm. She had covered her greying dark hair with a white scarf to keep it out of the way, but a few strands had escaped and Anne decided those strands were her kindred strands. If she was hair, she too would rather escape than be suffocated by a sweaty scarf.

“Good gracious, girl,” Marilla was slightly out of breath. “The things that come out of your mouth! You will not talk like that ever again, do I make myself clear?”

Perhaps it was the rose petals. Sometimes Marilla was too practical to see the beauty in flowers. She had often forbidden Anne from bringing “all kinds of dirty weed” inside, and once when Anne had decorated her entire room with the flowers she had picked up on her way back home from school, all Marilla had said was about “caterpillars in the clean sheets” and “spiders on the freshly washed floor” and “oh dear lord, is that a slug on the windowsill – get them out of here, Anne, _this instant_!”

“Yes, Marilla,” Anne said, dutifully, but couldn’t help but add, “Though I don’t think there are any slugs on rose petals.”

“Rose petals are the least of my worries right now,” said Marilla like she couldn’t quite fathom why Anne hadn’t known such a thing from the beginning. “But it’s not proper for young girls to talk about their death, especially not in such a jocular manner. Death is no joking matter, Anne. You will now go up to your room and pray the good Lord that He will forgive you and have mercy on your soul. You shall stay in your room as a punishment until I call for you. Is that understood?”

Marilla’s words sent a shiver down her spine and had Anne’s heart filling with dread.

“I never meant to offend God,” was but a whispery breath. “Oh no…”

The Sun was still shining into the kitchen and no lightnings came down from the cloudless sky to struck her. Counting her blessings, Anne ran up the stairs as quickly as she could – then, wincing, she ran down them to hang the rug outside to dry, “Sorry, Marilla! I didn’t forget it on the floor!” – and then walked the stairs up in a calmer manner when Marilla told her to behave herself and to stop running around like a whirlpool.

Once in her room, Anne threw herself to kneel by the bed in her hurry to beg for forgiveness. She insisted she meant no offence and went as far as to say she didn’t need a tombstone at all, if God didn’t want her to have one, and that she might as well be thrown into a nameless, forgotten mass grave deep in the woods.

“And only forest fairies will ever visit us,” she said, tearfully, looking up at the ceiling because that was the direction of heaven. “We shall be doomed souls and our mournful whispers can be heard at night by the people who dare to pass through our part of the woods. Everyone will have heard of us, yet no-one dares to talk about the Cursed of the Whispering Woods. And with these repentant words, I wish you a wonderful day, my dear heavenly father. May your angels sing particularly beautifully today. Amen.”

With a lighter heart, she ended the prayer, trusting fully that all had been forgiven, if not forgotten.

Her eyes landed on a pile of books on her desk.

The 13-year-old daughter of Marilla and Matthew’s second cousin, Winnifred had recently passed away. They had been at her funeral in Charlottetown and Anne had gotten a new black overcoat for such occasions. The coat was as dreary as death itself, perfectly fitting for a young girl’s funeral. The collar had been itching, as Anne had stepped closer with Matthew and Marilla to pay their respects. Alice had been beautiful in her casket, and while Anne had never met Alice before, she had wept for her, convinced they would have become good friends had they been given the chance. 

Winnifred, a stern practical woman, had given Anne one of Alice’s dresses, a grey one meant for everyday work. Anne had thanked her, politely, and Winnifred had then given her five of Alice’s story books as well. The books were now on Anne’s desk, each with a neatly written “Alice Olberhoth” written on the inside of the cover.

“Oh Alice,” sighed Anne now as she petted each book reverently, touching Alice’s cursive name with a gentle finger. “You were a spectacular soul. I hope you aren’t displeased that I have your books. I promise I will take a good care of them like they were my adopted children. Thank you very much, dearly beloved Alice, and may you rest in peace.”

Talking about one’s own death was such an offence it took Marilla hours to call for Anne. Anne tried to be remorseful, as she had been sent to do, but as she began to read the topmost of Alice’s books – _Princess Cecilia of Wondervalley_ by R. Margot – all thoughts about death and sin and remorse flew right out of her head. She was completely taken by the story, didn’t see or hear anything but the wonderful images it created in her mind.

The main character was a princess called Princess Cecilia Catherine Wunderstrauss of Wondervalley. That in itself was quite enough to catch a 12-year-old Anne’s interest, but then a wicked witch cursed the poor Cecilia and her curly fair hair turned into red strands – horrible red strands – and Anne let out a quiet gasp, her hold on the book tightening. (The curse also included a nose hooked as that of an eagle, ears as big as plates, a tail, claws and a horn in the middle of her forehead, but Anne was so focused on the hair curse she disregarded all else.)

As the Sun was setting over Avonlea and Marilla was climbing up the stairs to tell Anne to come down for dinner, Anne was hugging the finished book to her thin chest, completely taken by what she had just read. As the carrot stew was served and Matthew and Marilla talked about fixing the eastern parts of the cow fence, the words Princess Cecilia had spoken to her champion rang in Anne’s ears.

_“Oh, my handsome champion – it is due to you that my hair is no longer red!”_

It was just a story, she knew, but in the end Princess Cecilia had managed to get rid off her awful red hair, thanks to her champion, Arthur.

Perhaps – just perhaps – Anne could change her hair color, too, if she just did everything exactly as Princess Cecilia had done. It would be worth trying, wouldn’t it. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Who knew – perhaps she too had been cursed by a wicked witch when she had been very little! It would certainly explain a lot of things.

“I shall need a pink dress,” she said, wistfully, when Matthew and Marilla had nothing more to say about the cow fence. “Just in case my hair turns into fair curls and the wind will love to dance in them.”

* * *

In the morning, as she washed her face and braided her cursed hair, she decided she needed a champion of her own. Princess Cecilia had, after all, made it clear her changed hair color was all due to her champion, Arthur. If Anne were to follow Princess Cecilia’s guide on getting rid off the curse, a champion was a vital part of the plan.

It couldn’t be Jerry because Matthew needed his help. And Anne couldn’t really imagine Jerry slaying dragons for her, or for anyone, in the middle of winter preparations. Billy Andrews was never an option and Charlie Sloane was such a bore. She thought briefly of Moody and disregarded the idea just as quickly as it had come. She thought of each boy at school and was quick to find flaws in them all. None of them would be a fitting champion, for one reason or another.

All except one.

Truly, she was doomed because it all left her with one option, the one she had been determined to refuse until the bitter end – 

“Gilbert,” she said, as he blew onto the glowing embers in the stove in the middle of the cold classroom. “Gilbert?”

It was just the two of them and school wouldn’t start in another hour. This week it was their task to come early to school to warm it up for the others, a task Anne wouldn’t have minded had the company been different. Mr. Phillips had paired them up based on their academic success – the best students got to have their heating turn in November when it was still relatively warm, while the worst students would have to come to school early in the middle of winter through snowdrifts.

“Gilbert,” Anne said again when he wouldn’t answer, focused on the embers as he was.

“Give me more bark, please,” said Gilbert, reaching out towards her without taking his eyes off the embers.

Anne tore off a few large pieces of birch bark and put them in Gilbert’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks, Anne.”

When the flames had grown enough to be called an actual fire, she put a couple of logs into the stove and closed the hatch. They remained there in front of it, kneeling, because it was better to keep guarding and feeding the fire than to have to light it again. Of course, they could have taken turns to watch the fire. It wasn’t like they both had to sit there staring at it – one could have kept an eye on it, the other used the time to study – but Anne supposed it was only fair they both had to kneel there.

She certainly didn’t keep quiet about taking turns because she liked to sit there with him, with no-one around, with just the two of them, together. That was absolutely not the reason. She simply thought it was fair they both had to watch the fire at the same time, so they would watch it for an equally long period, and since he wasn’t suggesting they’d take turns either, he must have considered the arrangement fair as well.

“Gilbert,” Anne said when she was suitably certain his attention was no longer just on the task at hand. “It has come to my attention that I may have been cursed when I was very little, possibly by a vengeful witch who took offence to something my parents did. I have decided to attempt to lift the curse, but in order to do so, I’m going to need help.”

She took a deep breath.

“I am therefore looking for a champion. Someone who doesn’t mind darkness. Someone who is good at climbing. Someone who would be dedicated to m- _the quest_.”

Expectant, more nervous than she had anticipated she would be, she waited for an answer.

Instead of responding, Gilbert was giving her an odd look. Finally he asked, dubiously,

“How exactly have you been cursed?”

It was in moments like these when Anne remembered Gilbert was the cruelest and the most insensitive boy she had ever met, even if he sometimes made it seem like they could become something akin to good friends.

Goodness, was he really making her say it out loud?

“It’s obvious,” she said, haughtily, and inclined her head so he could see her hair better. He still looked confused. Anne rolled her eyes, took a hold of her braids and said,

“My hair! My hair, Gilbert. It’s _red_. I was cursed as a baby to have red hair.”

“It’s hardly a curse,” argued Gilbert. “I like your hair.”

Anne clapped her hands together and pointed a triumphant finger at him.

“Exactly! A curse, as I said.”

“There’s nothing wrong with red hair.” His eyes were now on Anne’s braids and Anne shifted, uncomfortably self-conscious – it was one thing to have an awful hair color, another to have someone stare at it so intently up close. “That exact shade of red is my second favorite color, you know.”

Now it was her turn to frown. She took a birch log and picked bark off it, just to have something to do with her hands. She felt oddly hurt.

“…I thought you once said it was your _favorite_ color.”

Slowly, his gaze moved up the braids until they were looking each other in the eye.

“That exact shade of blue,” Gilbert sounded wistful, his eyes dark as they met hers. “Red is an amazing color, but I can’t help but like blue a bit better, nowadays. Just the right shade of blue, that is… And just the right shade of red...”

They studied each other, while the resinous spruce logs crackled and hissed in the stove.

“Anne… Would you… like to… perhaps…”

Swallowing, he leant a bit closer – and Anne turned her face away, annoyed. Gilbert had an irritating habit of breathing right in her face. What with his glancing down at her lips, sometimes Anne feared he might be looking for a chance to spit in her mouth, like she had sometimes seen boys do with each other for a dare. She wanted no part in such games.

“Stop teasing me. It’s not chivalrous in the slightest and I happen to need you at your most chivalrous.”

Gilbert pulled back.

“Sorry.”

Her annoyance was still bubbling right beneath the surface. If he had tried a bit harder, they could have even become friends, she supposed – albeit a bit reluctantly – but if he insisted on making remarks about her hair and looking for opportunities to spit in her mouth, he was really testing her patience and good will. She might not have been the most ladylike, but surely she didn’t deserve to be treated like a wild calf either.

“So,” Anne said after an awkward moment, flicking a braid behind her shoulder, “are you going to become my champion or not? I still need one. It’s either you or Charlie Sloane. I don’t care which.”

Although she did care, enough so that her palms were sweating at the thought of Gilbert saying no. Subtly, she wiped them on her apron.

Opening the hatch, Gilbert added a few logs into the hungry fire. The stove was already radiating heat. Gilbert must have felt it too, red as his face was.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’d be glad to become your champion. Though if there is magic involved, I dare say I’m the one bewitched.”

“Do you happen to have a sword?”

Gilbert closed the hatch.

“If I’ll be needing a weapon, I suppose I could make myself a club of some kind.”

Anne nodded, eyes firmly on the stove.

“Good. That’s good. And the sooner we can begin our quest, the better. Oh Gilbert, I truly hope my natural hair colour is dark brown, like Diana’s. We shall see once the curse has been lifted.”

* * *

“What’s the matter with Gilbert today?” Diana wondered later when all the girls were gathered under a tree to share their lunch. “It may be my imagination, but I feel like he’s been glaring at my hair the whole morning. Is there something offensive about my bow?”

“It does look a bit crooked,” offered Josie Pye, “but then again, wouldn’t he be glaring at Anne, if someone’s looks were to be offensive? Your bow may be a bit… ‘simple’, Diana, but it’s still much better than anything Anne is wearing. Oh but goodness me – I mean no offense, of course, Anne! I know you’re trying your best with what you were given.”

She smiled at Anne, the kind of smile that looked sweet but was anything but and Anne felt it like a stab in her heart.

“We can’t all be beautiful like you, Josie,” she said and took an offered apple slice from Tillie. “Some of us have to be smart instead.”

“Gilbert wouldn’t be mean like that to you, Diana,” said Ruby. “He’s far too kind and polite. Isn’t he just so mature for his age?”

“No,” said Anne, “he isn’t. And Diana, both your bow and your hair are perfectly lovely, just as you are. Perhaps Gilbert is just having a stroke.”

“He isn’t!” said Ruby and added after a pause, nervously, “Is he?”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Jane with an eyeroll. “Anne is just being her usual smart self. Don’t mind her, Ruby.”

Diana offered Anne a piece of her apple tart.

* * *

Of course, Anne had to tell Diana everything, but only later when it was just the two of them walking home from school, arm in arm, as usual.

“Oh my,” Diana sounded equally worried and intrigued. “Cursed hair! Who would have thought!”

* * *

They began their quest the next day after school. In the first stage of lifting the curse, Sir Arthur the Champion had saved Princess Cecilia from the Mountain Trolls, so Anne told Gilbert to meet her at the Big Rock on the edge of the Ghost Wood.

“Once there, you will have to save me.”

Gilbert nodded, slowly, and took his club from where it had been leaning against the tree. It had once been a regular birch log meant for burning, but Gilbert had used an axe and a knife and now it looked like a passable club, fit enough for a medieval champion.

“Of course I will save you,” he promised. “But from what?”

“From trolls,” said Anne, patiently, and opened one of her braids so she could tie the ribbon around his arm. “Mountain trolls, viscous beasts that eat human hearts. So, take your club with you. I don’t expect you to die, but it’s better to be prepared for a bloody fight.”

“Very well,” said Gilbert like a true champion and touched her blue ribbon on his arm in a suitably reverent manner – he was playing his part marvelously, Anne had to admit. “I’ll follow you after a bit.”

“Don’t walk too fast,” said Anne because Diana would need some time to tie her to a tree.

“But not too slowly either,” Diana hurried to say, looking concerned. “Anne, are you sure it’s a good idea for me to tie you to a tree and leave you all alone in the woods? What if a thief comes by, or a bear? Is your hair really worth risking your life over?”

“Yes,” said Anne and added to Gilbert, “As Diana said, there might be thieves or bears, in the addition to trolls. Be on guard, champion.”

Gilbert hoisted the club up on his shoulder and gave her a salute. Anne couldn’t help it when her lips twisted up into an earnest smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seemed to like the first chapter, so I wrote another one. :) I hope you liked this one too.
> 
> Special greetings to Lavinia_Maxwell, PlintosDeusa, emeraldslytherin and justanawesomeowl! Have a splendid day!


	3. The Visitor

Marilla and Matthew had been exchanging glances throughout the evening, so Anne knew to wait for a Discussion that would be _truly meaningful_ and full of _important advice_. She had expected for it to do with school, that they would encourage her to keep up the good work (she had gotten full marks on her most recent exam), or perhaps with the way she had recently been dropping hints about wanting to wear her hair down, like other girls did, now that she was thirteen and no longer just a child.

But while she had known to wait for a _truly meaningful_ conversation full of _important advice_ , she never saw it coming when Marilla, lowering the kitchen towel she was embroidering, finally opened her mouth and said,

“It is nice how you and Gilbert have gotten along so well recently.”

The crochet hook hit the floor with a clear tinkling sound. Anne fumbled for it and cradled it to her thin chest, her eyes snapping up to meet those of Marilla’s. She could feel her cheeks heating up.

“I’m not daydreaming about running away with Gilbert Blythe!”

Marilla looked unimpressed, so Anne turned her pleading eyes to Matthew, who seemed engrossed in fixing the heel of his boot and avoided meeting her gaze, masterfully.

No-one went on to say, _of course you couldn’t possibly think of Gilbert Blythe, of all people_ , and that was as much as an accusation as anything. Anne just had to defend herself.

“I don’t even like Gilbert! Why would you even say such a thing? It’s preposterous! He only walks me home from school every other day because I still want to walk home with Diana, too. And I wouldn’t hold his hand, even if he asked, and he wouldn’t ask either because _I don’t like him_. At all! And even if he did ask and even if I did say yes, I only let him do it _once_ because it was my birthday, so there’s absolutely no reason at all for you to say things like that! And just because I’ve declared him my champion doesn’t mean- _it doesn’t mean anything_ , and I don’t appreciate anyone insinuating _anything_ either because there is _nothing_ to insinuate!”

Marilla was giving Matthew a look over the embroidery she had continued to work on. Anne didn’t like meaningful looks she couldn’t read, especially when those were about her, but she was so stunned she gaped at her adopted parents like a fish, and so Matthew had the chance to say,

“He has a quick head, that one. And good manners.”

“Indeed he has,” said Marilla, firmly, as if Anne might disagree. “His father is a good man and I firmly believe Gilbert will grow up to be a good man as well. He is good, sensible company. He would be a good addition to any family. We will invite the Blythes over for dinner on Sunday.”

With a thoughtful nod, Matthew worked on his boot, and Anne – with her hands shaking – managed to get the hook back in the stich after the fifth try.

They all worked in silence to the sound of the longcase clock ticking away with Anne occasionally adding wood in the fireplace.

“Mr. Blythe has gone to visit relatives in Charlottetown for the weekend,” she eventually had to say because Gilbert had told him as much just that morning when they had walked to school together. “He’ll be back by Thursday.”

Marilla was exchanging yet another unreadable look with Matthew, and it prompted Anne to snap,

“Gilbert Blythe is nothing but a moth!”

To which Marilla said, “Very well, it has been decided – next Sunday it is, then. Right after church. And do mind your manners, Anne. You are not to call people names.”

* * *

Later that night, as Friday turned into Saturday, Anne was waiting for the moth in question when a gust of wind blew the candle out.

Biting her lip, she studied the open window in the sudden darkness from where she was lying in bed on top of the woolly covers. She was shivering in her nightgown, but an unconscious Princess Cecilia hadn’t had the luxury of a warm bed in the tower in which she had been imprisoned, laid down on a cold stone bed as she had been, so Anne had to go without one as well.

In all honesty, she no longer truly believed anything could possibly make her hair beautiful, but at the same time she was reluctant to admit as much to Gilbert. After all, Gilbert had been working so hard to help her. He had climbed up rocks to bring her moss from top of them for spells, had chased away imaginary trolls with his club, had followed her and Diana to their adventures for over a year now, never once complaining. Anne just couldn’t bring herself to tell Gilbert it had all been for nothing.

She let out a deep sigh. She would have to talk about it to Diana.

A sudden gust of icy wind had a cloud of snow blowing into the room. Most of it landed on the chair by the window, but some flakes reached the bed, landing on her face. With her teeth chattering, she wished the white flakes wouldn’t melt – oh how tragic she would seem, covered in snowflakes! Gilbert would fall on his knees and say she truly looked like a dying princess. If she couldn’t have a stone bed, at least she had snow.

But after several long minutes when nothing happened, her smile melted away as did the snowflakes.

Perhaps Gilbert wasn’t coming.

She looked towards the open window. The night outside was pitch black. It had been snowing the whole evening, it still was. Even if Mr. Blythe wasn’t at home and Gilbert could easily sneak out, he would still have to go out into the moonless night on his own, all alone. He would need to wade his way through knee-deep snow all the way to Green Gables with nothing but a lantern lighting his path with the wind howling in the trees like a ghost. Then he would have to get across the yard without Marilla or Matthew noticing, so he might have to turn the lantern off, just in case he wouldn’t wake them up. And if that wasn’t enough, he would have to find his way to Snow Queen in darkness, in heavy snowfall, and climb up the tree to reach Anne’s open window.

And then, a few moments later, go back the same way he had come.

In the storybook, Sir Arthur had climbed up into the tower to meet Princess Cecilia when she had been turned into stone by an evil witch. With a valiant promise that he would break the curse even if it would cost him his life, Sir Arthur had kissed his unconscious beloved. Princess Cecilia had been awoken by the kiss, she was no longer a stone statue, and fewer strands of her hair had been red.

Anne sighed. If Gilbert wasn’t coming, she couldn’t blame him for it. Why would he go through all that trouble in the middle of the snowy night just to kiss Anne? There would be nothing in it for him, a great champion though he had been.

Resigned, she was just about to get up to close the window – when suddenly she heard a faint noise coming from outside. A soft noise, scraping, like someone’s foot had slipped when climbing up the trunk.

She pricked up her ears. The wind was sighing like it held all the sorrow of restless spirits, but even so she could hear soft panting coming from outside. She listened, her heart suddenly going wild in her chest, and when a dark figure appeared in her window, blocking the night from her view, and a familiar voice asked, hushed, “Anne?” she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious like Princess Cecilia.

There was the sound of two feet landing carefully on the floor. Then the wind grew more distant when the window was closed.

“Um… Anne?” Gilbert asked again, and Anne tried to stop shivering.

Her breath seemed to have been caught. Gilbert was now supposed to – he was supposed to – he was supposed to come to the bed, lean down and – and –

Anne had explained it all to him after school when no-one, not even Diana, had been there to hear. He had agreed to all of it, even to the kiss, and had promised to keep it all a secret, and so she now did her best to stay still, even though her teeth were chattering and her heart was beating a wild rhythm, almost like a dance of its own.

The sound of the chair falling down and Gilbert’s pained, “oomph, ow,” coming from the floor wasn’t exactly planned.

Concern had her sitting up.

“Gilbert?” she reached for her slippers by the bed. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, hello, Anne,” his voice sounded sheepish. “Sorry, I tripped on something – I hope I didn’t break it. I can’t see anything.”

Quietly, Anne got out of the bed and – with some fumbling to locate him in the darkness – helped him to get up. Gilbert was sniffling and covered in snow. Fresh snow fell off him, landing onto the floor, and the long sleeves of Anne’s nightgown got wet when she guided him away from the closed window.

“My goodness,” she whispered, hoping all the noise hadn’t alerted Marilla and Matthew – she really didn’t want either of them bursting in and finding Gilbert in her room in the middle of the night, “you’re shivering like a leaf. You better not get sick! I really don’t want to have to explain to any doctors how you managed to get yourself a fever. You should have just stayed at home in a weather like this.”

“I’m fine,” Gilbert insisted, his voice determined but low enough for just her to hear. “And staying at home wasn’t an option, not tonight when I was supposed to get to- Well, you know…”

And Anne did know. Of course she did know. It had been her suggestion, after all – the kiss.

She was shivering from cold, but her face felt suddenly warm. She thanked the darkness, the blessed darkness, for hiding her blush because she really didn’t want Gilbert seeing her turning pink. Pink just didn’t go with red.

“You truly are the most dutiful of all champions,” she had to praise him. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t come – and I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you hadn’t.”

Her arm was grasped as if he was looking for guidance to navigate in the darkness, but then there was a startled hitch of a breath and the hand disappeared almost as soon as it had made contact.

“Is that-“ Gilbert’s voice went so high it broke. “That’s – loose cotton. Are you-“ he coughed once, as if hesitating. After a pause, he asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Are you in your nightgown, Anne?”

Of course she shouldn’t have been, she realized it now. It was quite inappropriate.

But when she had imagined Princess Cecilia lying on the stone bed with Sir Arthur leaning over her stony form, she had imagined herself in a gown, not in her everyday skirt. And like so often, her imagination had gotten the better of her sensibilities – which was why she was now standing there in front of Gilbert, in her nightgown, with her hair down, in her bedroom, in the middle of the night.

She thanked the darkness again.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she half ordered, half begged, and poked the air in front of her until the finger found his chest and hit one of the buttons of his coat. “No-one, Gilbert. I mean it.”

Two warm hands clasped her poking hand between them, gently.

“Not a soul,” he promised, solemnly. “Though if it’s your reputation you’re thinking of, it’s actually me who should be worried: my father would lock me up in a barn for the rest of my days, if he thought I was in a habit of climbing into girls’ bedrooms.”

She couldn’t help the burst of nervous giggles and he was quick to join her. She felt giddy, peculiarly so, and then they just stood there, Anne’s hands between his, giggling and hushing each other.

It wasn’t until her giggles died down that Anne realized Gilbert was no longer laughing. Instead, his hands had run up her wrists, slowly, cautiously, and then up her sleeves until they had reached the tips of her hair. He didn’t seem to be shivering anymore, but she was.

“Gilbert?”

“Your hair is down.

“I don’t suppose you have a candle up here?” he added, sounding a bit exasperated – or perhaps regretful. “I wish I hadn’t left my lantern in the barn, but I couldn’t take a risk of the Cuthberts noticing my approach.”

She did have a candle up there, but she wasn’t about to tell Gilbert as much. It was better he didn’t see her in such a state, pink and all.

Her sleeves were wet where the snow had melted. Her shivers had grown worse and he must have noticed because suddenly he said,

“Perhaps you should get back to bed, Anne. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I am indeed a bit cold.”

Despite of her words, Anne was reluctant to move away – to let go off the moment they had just shared. Eventually, she had to give in and so she fumbled her way back to the bed and kicked her slippers off her feet as she climbed in – under the covers, even if Princess Cecilia hadn’t had a warm bed.

“Well then,” Gilbert sounded uncharacteristically nervous. “Perhaps I should go and leave you to your sleep.”

It was as much a question as it wasn’t, and as Anne lied there, shivering, her thoughts were on the boy shuffling his feet by her bed.

“I’m so cold I may be turning into stone as we speak,” she said, playfully, trying to make out Gilbert’s features in the darkness. “I suppose it could even be a curse going through my veins. Is this really the time for my champion to leave?”

Gilbert shuffled closer.

“I might know a way to break the curse,” he said, quietly. “If you want me to help you.”

Her teeth were chattering, but it wasn’t the coldness that had her voice shaking when she said,

“I do.”

She could sense him coming closer, could feel the faint jolt when his thigh hit the side of the bed.

“But you need to give me a moment to warm up first. I really am quite cold, Gilbert.”

“I’ll wait for as long as you need me to.”

* * *

“All right,” Anne said after her teeth were no longer chattering, and Gilbert jolted up awake from where he had been dozing off at the feet of her bed. “I’m ready. You may now proceed with... breaking the curse.”

She could feel him getting up from the bed and moving by the side of it until he was kneeling by her head. His hand came down first, fumbling around until it found her cheek. His breath was warm on her skin, and a bit chilled though she still was, she suddenly felt hot all over, like she had a fever.

She gave a start when there was a sudden press of lips on the corner of her mouth, so quick she barely had time to feel it.

“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t sound sorry at all, his face so close to Anne’s the word was a gust of warm air on her cheek.

“It’s all right,” Anne said and tried to hide the disappointment in her voice.

She didn’t know what she had expected from her first kiss, but she couldn’t blame Gilbert for wanting to get it over with quickly. After all, it wasn’t like Gilbert was getting anything out of it, out of kissing her. He was just doing her a favor – he still believed she was doing this just to change her hair color. He might have said he liked her hair, but seeing as he was going to great lengths to help her to change it – sneaking into her bedroom in the middle of a snowy night, for one – he must have just been polite about it.

“It would be easier for me to hate you, if you weren’t so kind and polite all the time.”

There was a chuckle. Gilbert was stroking her cheek with a thumb.

“It seems to me like you’re nonetheless quite determined to give it all you’ve got, Carrots.”

“That I am,” she agreed, softly. “That I am. You moth.”

And then his lips came down to meet hers for the second time.

They glided together in a slow dance she didn’t quite have the words to describe. Wondrous? Overwhelming? A poem only the two of them knew. Her lips were cold but wet and so were his, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thought of them gliding across an icy pond on skates, holding onto each other, like ice fairies.

If there was a curse, surely it would have been broken then, with Gilbert above her, kissing her like he truly cared about her.

Later when the Moon was shining up in the starry sky and the whole of Avonlea seemed silvery in its light, Gilbert climbed out of the window to go back home. Anne pulled the window closed after him and watched as he snuck into the barn in the moonlight, leaving tracks in the snow behind him. As she watched him go, she couldn’t decide if he was a moth or an ice fairy prince, but either way, she had never before felt so much like flying.

The next morning at breakfast, Anne was sniffling and coughing and running a mild fever. Matthew was quiet in his worry, but Marilla fussed around her, making her tea, and asked since when Anne had had the chills.

“And why on earth are you smiling like that?” she said, irritable like always when she was worried. “Good heavens, girl. You have taken ill – what is there to smile about?”

Anne did try to stop smiling, but couldn’t, except for a short while when she coughed. But even after a coughing fit, the smile would eventually find its way back on her face, a fact that made Marilla wonder out loud if she had quite lost her wits.

By the time they had finished their breakfast, fresh snow had covered Gilbert’s tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read more, let me know! That's the only thing I'm getting out of this. xD


	4. Gilbert's Move

It was now Gilbert’s move.

Anne had been waiting patiently for him to do something – anything – for what felt like forever, but she knew the waiting was a part of the game, and so she just – waited. As she waited, the window glass felt refreshingly cool against her temple and she stifled a yawn, letting her mind wander when she couldn’t.

In the recent months, ever since Mr. Blythe and Gilbert had joined them for dinner one snowy Sunday after church, it had become a bit of a habit for Anne to sit there at the windowsill in the kitchen of the Blythes’ family. Marilla allowed it because Mr. Blythe was sick and “poor Gilbert could use some help for certain”. And since Anne still did well at school and since the Cuthberts considered Gilbert “good company”, Anne had been given the permission to spend her afternoons at the Blythes’ – for as long as she came home in time for tea.

(And if Anne and Gilbert sometimes kissed for a bit when no-one was there to see, Marilla didn’t need to know. There was nothing sinful or wrong about kissing someone you liked – after all, Mary Magdalene and Jesus had kissed too, if one was to believe Minister Ravenhill’s sermons, which one was absolutely to do, according to Rachel Lynde.)

Now it was early May and spring was gradually turning into summer, and to occupy her – bored, bored, bored – mind while she waited for Gilbert to make his move, Anne tried to spot any signs of the approaching summer out on the Blythes’ yard. Lilies of the valley were blooming, and Bessie and Clarabelle – uncaring of the spring drizzle everyone else had been complaining about the whole week – had been let out on their summer pastures.

Perhaps rain was like bathing to cows, Anne mused, looking on as Bessie munched grass. Perhaps cows liked bathing. Perhaps cows were just as interested in soap as –

The soft thud coming from right in front of her had her looking down at the chessboard.

Gilbert had moved his black rook. It was now threatening one of her white pawns and the sight of it had her jaw clenching – of course the pawn in danger had to be the poor little Alfred, the youngest of all the white pawns, the kind-hearted crown prince, the handsome heir to the throne, the innocent son of King Richard the Righteous and Queen Cassandra.

“By my nose!” Anne let out her frustration, bending over the board to assess the desperate situation with all the intensity it was due.

The tragedy of it was, it wasn’t even Alfred’s war – he wasn’t supposed to be there at all, only sixteen as he was. Alfred had only come to the battlefield because his beloved, Eleonore – one of the black pawns, coincidentally the daughter of King Frederick the Cunning and Queen Margaret – had been forced to participate in the fighting by her ruthless father. Alfred was now trying to save his beloved Eleonore, the beautiful Eleonore, his whole heart, while war fared all around the pair.

With one precise move, Anne moved Alfred out of harm’s way and one step closer to Princess Eleonore. It prompted an exasperated grunt from her opponent.

“If you move the pawn there, I’ll eat your bishop.”

She had been smiling down at the young lovers, but Gilbert’s voice, laced with frustration, had her looking up. His dark brows were drawn together and he was tapping his fingers against the windowsill on which they had spread out the chessboard.

“That’s a stupid move,” he spoke again, glaring down at the board, “and you know it, Anne – you’re _letting_ me eat your bishop for no reason.”

Anne looked down at Frank, the dishonest bishop who had at the beginning of the game betrayed the king’s trust which had resulted in the death of one of the loyal knights, Sir Reginald.

“The bishop deserves his fate.”

Gilbert’s strumming fingers came to a halt.

“Perhaps I didn’t explain the rules well enough when we first began to play _three weeks ago_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. “The object of chess is to checkmate the opponent’s king and to protect your own-“

“I know.”

“-but it seems to me that every time we play, you’re focused on protecting your pawns instead of your king. Yesterday you literally sacrificed your queen – _when she was positioned in a strategically important place to block my access to your king_ – just to save a pawn, and now you’re about to do the same to your bishop.”

The look he gave her was a challenge like he expected her to object and to deny all his accusations. When she said nothing, just returned his look a bit nonplussed, he stood up, rubbing his neck as if it was paining him, and gave her a dark look.

“You want to beat me in _everything_ , Anne, and you’ve even turned homework into a competition. But when I introduce you to my favorite game, you don’t even try. You just… _you let me win_ , game after game, like you’re mocking me – like you want to emphasize how little my interests matter to you. You make stupid moves _on purpose_. And – if you can’t respect me as an opponent and play properly, then I no longer want to play with you.”

The ability to form words left Anne. Her entire world narrowed down to the boy towering over her, and while she did hear each word he said, it was the tone that grated her ears and tore at her heart – he was trying to hide it behind a wall of open exasperation, but she heard it anyway, loud and clear – the hurt.

Gilbert felt hurt.

He had shared his interest with her – and he thought she was making mockery of it.

She was up on her feet before she knew it.

“Oh Gilbert,” she managed when she finally found her voice, “I’m so, so sorry.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, as he looked away, down, but didn’t pull away when Anne reached for his hand. Just in case he might, she tightened her hold and brought his hand to her heart, keeping it there like a mother might her child.

“I never meant to be mean to you,” she did her very best to sound just as sincere as she was. “It was really nice of you to introduce me to chess and the game itself can indeed be interesting. I’m sorry I haven’t played as well as you would have liked.”

She hesitated, but felt like she owed him an explanation. Unfortunately, like always when she got particularly nervous – especially when she realized she had hurt someone’s feelings – she lost her ability to be eloquent and blurted instead,

“But it takes you ages to make your moves! I’ve got my next three moves all figured out, but you think and think and think for your one move, and I’m sorry, but it’s extremely boring to just wait and wait and wait, while there is spring outside and Bessie looks so marvelous on her pasture. But I know chess is important to you, Gilbert, so I wanted to give you all the time you needed, and then I was looking at the board and I realized there was a whole cast of characters on it, so I imagined who they all were.”

Dropping his hand, she turned to the board and grasped Alfred, bringing the pawn right under his nose.

“This is Alfred! He’s the crown prince. And –”

Twirling back to the chessboard, she snatched Eleonore from where she was standing in front of her father, protecting the cruel king, and presented her to Gilbert.

“And this is his sweetheart, Princess Eleonore. They are in love, and while the object of chess may be to checkmate the opponent’s king (your King Frederick is a cruel tyrant by the way, driven insane by his lust for power), I couldn’t let their romance turn into a tragedy – sweet though those can be – and so my object became to keep Alfred and Eleonore safe and to bring them together.”

Gilbert just stared at her, brows still drawn together, and her desperation grew.

“Bishop Frank is a traitor!” She thrust the cursed bishop to his chest like that would prove the piece guilty as charged. “It may be merciless of me, but if I must choose between Bishop Frank – who is also lazy and terribly cruel to his servant girl – and Alfred, I will always choose Alfred, even if it makes me lose the game.”

She was already reaching for King Richard when her elbow was suddenly taken into a firm but gentle hold. Gilbert’s brows were still furrowed, but the frown looked now thoughtful more so than angry.

Misery had her voice shaking when she looked up into his eyes and said,

“It never occurred to me my actions would hurt you. I’m truly very sorry, Gilbert.”

And though his expression remained serious, the brown eyes began to twinkle.

“I believe you,” he finally said and poked the tip of her nose.

Anne’s heart felt suddenly light like a weight had been lifted and she let it show on her face. She beamed up at him, and his forehead smoothed down, all traces of the frown vanishing like they had never been there to begin with. His lips parted and for a moment it seemed like he was about to speak. But then he closed his mouth and let go off Anne’s elbow, clearing his throat.

“Your views on chess are quite fascinating.”

Running a hand through his short curls, Gilbert took his seat at the windowsill.

“Sounds like we should make some changes to the rules…“

He placed Bishop Frank back on the board.

“…so you can beat me fair and square.”

He winked at her, gesturing for her to sit down as well.

And so it became that in their version of chess Anne’s object was to bring Alfred and Eleonore together, while Gilbert’s King Frederick the Cunning tried to checkmate Prince Alfred. Sometimes the game left the chessboard entirely and Gilbert chased after Anne who was holding Alfred protectively in her fist and screaming things about never giving up, and when Gilbert did catch her, she would fight him until she had no choice but to plant a kiss on his lips – and slip out of his hold, laughing, when he was suitably distracted.

Of course, all games came to a halt whenever Mr. Blythe needed help. They cooked for him and washed his bedclothes and put pillows behind his back when he had trouble breathing. Sometimes Mr. Blythe asked her to recite him one of her poems which Anne was more than glad to do, and sometimes she held Mr. Blythe’s hand when he couldn’t stop coughing. And when Mr. Blythe sometimes writhed in pain and begged for Gilbert to bring him a rope so he could end it all himself, Anne stayed past teatime late into evening, cooked them dinner, milked Bessie and Clarabelle, mended Gilbert’s clothes, and when she found him in the armchair, exhausted, she put a blanket on him, and made sure to hide her tears from him because he had enough on his plate without Anne adding to it.

And then when summer turned into fall and The Woeful Maiden carried her red leaves with the level of elegance only an aged tree could manage, Gilbert stopped coming to school because his father needed him more than Gilbert needed an education.

* * *

“I quite like teaching,” Anne told Diana one day when they were on their way to their weekly Story Club meeting. “When you can teach something to someone as clueless as Gilbert Blythe, then you know for sure you’ve mastered the subject.”

Anne had been even more attentive at school than usual, to a degree Mr. Phillips had reluctantly had to praise her for it. After school, she went straight to the Blythes’, helped around however she could, and then when Mr. Blythe was restful enough, taught Gilbert everything she had learnt at school that day.

Sometimes Mr. Blythe asked them to stay in his bedroom and Anne taught them both, although Mr. Blythe’s twinkling eyes had led her to the conclusion the man knew all the subjects better than she did and was only humoring her. Still, she couldn’t fault him for it – it must have been terribly lonely, lying in bed all day each day, and perhaps their company helped him to keep his spirits high. However the case may have been, the Blythes were both just as attentive students as she was and she enjoyed teaching them.

Diana gave her a mischievous grin, swinging their joined hands.

“Would you still like teaching, if you had to teach boys like Billy Andrews?”

“Why of course, Miss Barry,” Anne said, haughtily, though her grin betrayed her mirth. “I wouldn’t shy away from a challenge! Just because Billy Andrews is a horrible human being doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve an education. Actually, he needs to be educated more than most _because_ he’s so horrible.”

Diana chuckled. Her dimples were to die for, and while Anne had decorated her hat with yellow leaves (she still refused to wear red ones), she knew no amount of decorations would make her beautiful, not like Diana with her red cheeks and dark ebony hair – Diana was truly a Snow White, while Anne was doomed to stay Princess Cecilia the Cursed.

All of a sudden the Snow White in question squeezed her hand as if an idea had just hit her.

“Just imagine, Anne – if you were a teacher, you could always just spank Billy if he disobeyed you!”

It hit Anne in an instant, the memory of a whip hitting her bare back, again and again and again, and she almost thought she could feel the burn of it, the shame, the _I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be better, please stop, please stop, please, please, stop, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, please –_

“No,” Anne said, giving her head a firm shake to clear it, and tried to focus on the grounding feel of Diana’s hand in hers, “I would never hit a child. Not even one like Billy Andrews.”

When they reached the Story Club house, Jane and Ruby were already there. As soon as Ruby saw them, she said – quite loudly – that her story was about a terribly mean girl who stole the prince from another girl who was supposed to become the princess. Diana sighed as if the subject matter was something she was reluctant to hear, but Anne thought it sounded like quite the original idea – she had never come to think of such a thing herself.

* * *

Mr. Blythe was getting worse.

A couple of times he looked at Gilbert and did not recognize him and sometimes he began to sob like a child for no reason when all had been well just a moment before. He was often apologizing, especially to Gilbert, but also to Anne. When they brought him tea, he apologized for being such a bother. When Gilbert said he would go and make some more firewood, Mr. Blythe grasped him by the wrist and apologized for not being strong enough to help. When Anne recited him a poem and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, he apologized for being too tired to listen.

Once Mr. Blythe apologized to Gilbert for not being able to be the father he had wanted to be and a tearful Gilbert insisted he was a good father, and a silently weeping Anne snuck out to give them privacy.

And once –

Yes.

Once when Gilbert had gone outside and Anne was about to take the tea tray back to the kitchen, Mr. Blythe said,

“Anne, please, would you sit by my bed for a while?”

“Of course, Mr. Blythe.”

Anne put the tray on the side table and did as she had been asked, crossing her hands in her lap, as she took her seat on the chair next to his bed.

They were silent until finally he let out a deep sigh.

“May I hold your hand?”

“Of course,” she promised and reached out to take his limp hand.

His bleary red eyes squinted as if to see her better. He tried to smile, but didn’t quite have the strength for it and the outcome was rather weak. Her heart clenched, but she didn’t look away. Something in his face reminded her of Gilbert.

“I have been wondering for a while now,” Mr. Blythe managed, “and I would like to know before my time comes…”

He fell silent again, seeming to hesitate. After a moment Anne encouraged him, gently,

“What would you like to know, Mr. Blythe?”

“Well…” he still hesitated, studying her face, but perhaps he found in her eyes whatever it was that he had been looking for because he did go on,

“Dear Anne. I have suspected for a while now that you might be an angel.”

His hand felt cold.

“And I would like to know…” he coughed twice, just the sound of it was painful and he was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, “Could you please tell me… Are you here to see me to the other side, or are you here to look after my son?”

Her jaw was quivering and it took all she had to not burst into sobs. She didn’t know what to say. She held onto his hand and stroked his fingers one after another and wished Marilla was there because Marilla would know what to say to a man who asked if you were the angel of death or the guardian angel of his son.

But before Anne could find an answer, Mr. Blythe’s gaze suddenly focused on something behind her. A grin formed on his face, one that quickly grew into an honest smile, and he smiled that relieved smile, looking behind Anne. Anne glanced behind her, but there was no-one there. Just the wall and the tray she had left on the table. She turned back to Mr. Blythe who was still gazing into nothing with a smile brightening his gaunt face.

“Oh,” Mr. Blythe let out a content sigh. “Now I have my answer.”

* * *

“John doesn’t have long now,” Anne heard Marilla saying to Matthew one miserably dark November night when the wind was howling and the world outside was dying with whatever hope Anne had had for Mr. Blythe getting better.

“I must visit him tomorrow. It will be my last chance to… to…”

Marilla didn’t finish the sentence, not in a way Anne could have heard at least, but the next day Marilla left to the Blythes’ early in the morning and didn’t come back until after Anne had gone to bed.

When Anne woke up the next morning and went downstairs, there were two lit candles on the kitchen table instead of breakfast, and Marilla called Matthew Michael, and when Marilla went to the cellar to look for the cheese they had already eaten, Matthew told Anne Mr. Blythe’s funeral would be on Saturday.

* * *

John Blythe had been one to travel and adventure. He had wanted to explore the world, and two days after his funeral Gilbert declared he was leaving Avonlea to “go and explore the world” like his father would now have done had he had the chance to do so.

Anne was quiet for a long while after he told her, quite unable to meet his eyes, even though they were standing face to face at the gate of Green Gables.

“I must leave soon,” he said, “before winter comes and the sea freezes over and the ships can’t leave their ports.”

“Will you come back?” she asked the slate she was hugging to her chest.

“Perhaps,” he said with a cough, “but… Anne…”

His hands appeared in her line of sight. They took a hold of her braids, his mitten-clad thumbs stroking the red hair.

“I was rather hoping,” Gilbert's voice was nervous, “that you would come with me. I would hate to leave my princess back home. We could travel wherever you’d like to go.”

* * *

“Absolutely not,” said Marilla – and she was addressing her words to Gilbert, not to Anne, which made it all the worse. “She is fourteen, Gilbert. A girl that age does not belong to ships full of crude sailors.”

“I wouldn’t even mind if they spit indoors,” Anne tried to put in, but was silenced by Marilla’s stern look.

“If you care about her,” Marilla went on without even a pause for breath, “you will let her stay here in Avonlea where she can go to school and build a future for herself – where she will be looked after until she is a grown woman and can look after herself-“

“I can look after myself already!”

“-and you _will not_ drag her to some – some _disreputable_ ship full of who knows who.”

So distressed she was shaking, Marilla wiped her hands to her immaculately white apron, looking from Anne to Gilbert and then to Matthew who was standing at the door staring down at the hat in his hands as if it held all the answer to the mysteries of the universe.

“I wish you all the best in your adventures, dear Gilbert,” Marilla’s voice was less firm when she spoke next, “but you will not be taking our Anne with you.”

“But Marilla-“ Anne began to plead, but this time her objections weren’t stopped by Marilla – but by Matthew.

“Anne will not go,” his words were a statement. A fact. There was nothing belligerent or domineering in the way he said it, it simply sounded like the indisputable truth, one that couldn’t be questioned.

“She is a child,” Matthew went on, talking to the hat in his hands. “A young lady, but still a child. Our girl. She is my responsibility. And for now her place is here at Green Gables.”

* * *

“I could run away with you,” she whispered when she managed to have a moment alone with him after the estate inventory (Gilbert inherited all his father had owned). “If you’ll wait for me, I can pretend to go to school and come to you instead. Oh how I’d love to explore the world with you, Gilbert. We could still become sailors together! What an adventure it would be! Perhaps we could even have our own ship, one day.”

Gilbert’s smile was wistful, but soon it vanished and he set his jaw, letting go off Anne’s hand.

“No, Anne. They are right – your life is here and I won’t be stealing you away from where you belong.”

“But I’d like to come with you.”

His lips twisted up into a humorless grin, but there was nothing in his eyes when he said,

“We don’t always get to have what we’d like, do we.”

* * *

Gilbert left. He took a strand of Anne’s red hair with him like a true champion, though Anne couldn’t possibly understand why he had been so insistent about it. If _she_ was to explore the world, she would have been glad to leave all kinds of red hair behind.

That winter Anne learnt extraordinary things – but had no-one to teach them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You left me such kind comments I just had to write you another chapter. I was really touched by your encouragement and your enthusiasm about this little fic of mine. Thank you so so so much! <3 I'm sorry I'm bad at answering comments, but please take this chapter as my answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, cheer me up with a comment! :)
> 
> And if you'd like to read more, let me know, or I'll never know.


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